


You Came Calling, And I'm All In

by fereldenpeach



Series: One-Shot Sexcerpts [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Confident Cullen, Drinking, Early Relationship, Electric Attraction, F/M, First Time, Giveaway fic, Herald's Rest, Mutual Pining, NSFW, Smut, Still Awkward, Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-04 11:36:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11554386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fereldenpeach/pseuds/fereldenpeach
Summary: Cullen can't wait until the Inquisitor returns to Skyhold...And the Inquisitor can't either.A Tumblr giveaway one-shot for @cullywully (@whiskeyeyedcullen)!





	You Came Calling, And I'm All In

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CullyWully](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CullyWully/gifts).



> This is her adorable OC Rosala Lavellan.
> 
> I hope you enjoy, my sweet!

The evening descended quickly upon Skyhold.

Twisting clouds thick with the threat of snow had rendered the shortest day of Firstfall even shorter, concealing what was sure to have been a dreamy and romantic sunset. Without the heat of the sun’s lingering rays, however, the inhabitants of Skyhold retreated indoors, seeking shelter from the bitter bite of the mountain wind that had briskly seeped down into their bones. 

Cullen shook out the cold from his hair as he stepped into the warmth of the Herald’s Rest, whispering a quick praise to the Maker that he had chosen _not_ to abandon the heavy layers of his armor in favor of more comfortable and presentable attire. 

Not that more presentable attire would have mattered on this particular evening.

The Inquisitor’s return wasn’t expected until the morrow, leaving him little care for his appearance. Long stubble still covered his cheeks, his jaw, his neck—golden locks drooped down to brush his brow—an unbeknownst spot of ink smeared underneath his right eye. A state in which the attention of Skyhold’s residents was something he was all too happy to be denied—their backs still facing him despite the booming of the door’s closure behind him.

Content with his sudden invisibility, Cullen covered his mouth, blowing a puff of steamy breath into the hollow of his folded hands before proceeding toward the bar.

Cabot glanced up at Cullen, his eyes squinting beneath bushy brows. 

“Usual tonight—eh, Commander?”

“Indeed, thank you.”

Cabot turned toward the cask to pull a pint of ale and promptly set it on the bar in exchange for a bit of coin and an appreciative nod from Cullen. 

And the Commander had barely sipped through the foamy head of his ale when his name called from near the railing of the second floor with a sharp and amused, “Hey, Cully!”

Cullen coughed through his swallow and glanced up, watching as Sera cackled and tossed her thumb over her shoulder—pushing back her messy fringe with the flat of her other palm.

“Troops are betting on a duel between yourself and ol’ Pretty Boy Blue Eyes. Gonna come up and give him a go for it, yeah? My bet is Pretty Boy’ll— _shing_!—” Sera sliced an imaginary sword through the air as Cullen ascended the stairs with a smirk. 

“—cut off your breeches,” she continued. “Half them lot’s got wagers on what color knickers you’re wearing.”

Cullen’s face burned and he tugged awkwardly at his neck—a lopsided grin lifting the scar of his upper lip. “Appreciate the confidence, Sera.”

She let out another mad cackle and Michel de Chevin shook his head.

“Not to worry, my friend,” he said through his rich Orlesian accent—his boyish, playful smirk crinkling the corners of his glinting blue eyes. “I would not dare embarrass the Commander of the Inquisition with such childish things. My besting you at swordsmanship would certainly fair well enough.”

Cullen’s troops erupted in howls—cheering and booing and laughing along as Sera climbed atop the nearest table and quickly pantomimed the pantsing of the Commander by the hand of the dashing chevalier. The room roared at the spectacle before them and Cullen’s mood lifted, grateful for once to be amidst such light-hearted company—for it had been too long since he'd last seen Rosala prior to her journey to the Hissing Wastes, and he longed to once again spend his evenings indulging in her spritely inclinations and innocent humor that brightened even his darkest moments. And simply knowing she would return sometime the following day had greatly raised his spirits, anxiety riddling him in the best way possible, leaving him far more positively receptive of the ridiculous antics carried out at his own expense. 

“Is that so?” asked Cullen, spinning around a chair to join the playful banter of his comrades. He settled in and kicked up his feet—his grandeur swelling with the flex of his shoulders and a cool, nonchalant air—the flick of his wrist dismissing Michel’s comment in favor of firing back his own good-natured jibes. 

And it was the roaring of the second floor that prevented Cullen from hearing the surprised yet welcoming cheers for the Inquisitor’s safe and early return on the floor below—for Rosala slinked into the Herald’s Rest on freshly changed boots with a bright and clean face, her violet eyes dancing around the room in hopes of glimpsing the man who had appeared in her thoughts whenever she had closed her eyes. 

“Have you seen Cullen?” she asked, to which Cabot gave a grunt and motioned toward the ruckus on the floor above. 

Rosala’s ears quirked, picking up the sultry rumble of Cullen’s voice and she slowly made her way to the stairs—climbing hesitantly—unsure of what she may be getting herself into with such exuberant voices and rounds of laughter. She watched between patrons from the top of the stairs, only one eye able to glimpse him as he conversed and gesticulated some sort of grand story to his party at the table. And she nibbled at her lip, sight catching his strong and masculine profile, the charismatic smolder of his hooded eyes, the swipe of his tongue as he wet his lips between breaths while telling his story. 

But she grinned as soon as she noticed his slightly disheveled state—his longer hair and unshaven face, not bothering to dress down from his Commander’s uniform. Her heart raced at the thought, nerves traveling along her extremities enough to tremble her hands, for she knew he hadn’t bothered maintaining his appearance—the woman he had desired had not been present for him to do so until the morning of her arrival—and she had caught him unaware. 

Rosala wrapped her shaking fingers around the banister railing with a tight squeeze and then exhaled before rounding it to join the others on the second floor. The thrashing of her heart leapt into her throat as she approached, listening as Cullen’s voice quickly morphed into his nasally and completely amused chuckle from Michel’s quick-witted retort, his hand coming down to slap at his knee before reclining back in his chair with a sideways glimpse to his peripheral…

The room fell silent as he stood—sending his chair rasping in a scrape of wood against wood—and he turned to address his superior who had joined the throng unannounced from an early return. 

“Rosa—Inquisitor!” Cullen stammered, pulling his posture to his full height. His men instantly followed suit, rising in her presence and bringing their fists to their chests in salute. “I’m grateful to see you have returned safely.”

“ _Ahh_ hahaha _ha_!” shouted Sera, rushing forward to throw her arms around Rosala’s shoulders. “I knew you'd make it back from those shitpot Wastes! Look at you—” she leaned next to Rosala’s ear, “—or better yet, look at _him._ Wouldn’t stop fretting, that one _,_ ” she whispered.

“Sera!” teased Rosala incredulously, loosing her best friend to address her Commander. 

“I—a word, Inquisitor?” asked Cullen, a blush spreading furiously down his neck. 

Rosala nodded and turned to follow him as he took his leave toward the third floor staircase, leaving the troops, Sera, and Michel de Chevin to continue their lively gambles and drunken debates. 

“Are you looking for a debrief prior to the War Council meeting, Commander?” Rosala asked, following him past the rest of the patrons. 

“Er, sure—I mean, yes. If you are not too tired from your journey, that is.”

Cullen held open the door and followed his Inquisitor out onto the battlements.

Rosala glanced up at him, her eyes gleaming in anticipation. And after Cullen had taken half a moment to scan the guards posted along the keep, trusting their attention was tuned to their duties, he slid his fingers down the length of her arm and gently clasped her hand. 

“Come. You must be freezing.” 

He pulled her toward his office, gripping her palm as tightly as possible (without crushing her petite hand and slender fingers) hoping to prevent her from falling even though he _knew_ she was sure-footed enough not to slip along the thin layer of frost blanketing the stone. Pushing the door open, he leaned against it so she could enter first, tossing a glance behind to ensure there were no unexpected eyes lingering on their _very_ typical behavior. 

And once they had crossed through to Cullen’s quarters and the doors had closed to seal their secrecy, he surged forward, cradling Rosala’s face as his lips stole away her breath in a desperate and needy kiss—swallowing her surprise while drinking in both her intoxicating scent and the delectable taste of her mouth. It was divine, sweet and fresh—a kiss that relayed as many emotions as each of them had felt during their long and arduous separation. 

Desire. 

Longing.

_Ache_. 

_Home_.

A fragrance and flavor he had so longed to experience in more than just in passing or in dreams or in stolen moments along the battlements. Cullen thumbed her cheek, breaking their kiss to nuzzle his cold and reddened nose against her own.

“Thank the Maker, you’re home safe,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around her in a tight embrace. “I knew you could handle yourself out there in the Wastes, but Maker, did you never once leave my thoughts.”

Rosala tipped up her chin, her chest warm and fluttering simply from his brazen closeness. “I missed you, too.” 

Cullen smiled at her, sliding his hand along her neck to drag his thumb over her bottom lip and across her jaw. A soft sigh escaped Rosala’s lips and she nearly melted from his touch, but she returned his smile and cradled his cheek, gently swiping away the smudge of ink from his skin. His stubble prickled against her thumb. 

“I know I’ve only just arrived, but I already dread my next journey. Who will look after you the next time I'm away?”

“Oh…” said Cullen sheepishly, running his fingers over his unshaven face. “I hadn't expected your arrival until tomorrow or I would have—”

Cullen let his abashed propensity slide as he stared down into her gleaming, urging eyes, and instead of tugging at the muscle that normally bunched at the base of his neck, he succumbed to his wanton desires instead, slipping his hands around Rosala’s waist to pull her closer. Her heart pounded within her chest, her pulse throbbing, luscious lips plumping, and the rapid flutter sent tingles all the way down into the center of her sex. It was electric—the ever-present spark between them igniting as they exchanged the same unstated desires with such simple touches, one needing the other and the other wanting the same. 

Cullen bent forward, his mouth hovering over hers, tugging her in. But there was no warmth, no soft contact as he drew her body flush with his…armor.

“Maker's breath,” he cursed, immediately regretting _not_ forgoing his uniform in favor of more comfortable and presentable attire. 

Rosala needed no instruction or encouragement. Fingers—both his and hers—frantically sought buckles, straps, and ties, working until Cullen was free from his metal exterior, his muscles flexing beneath his casual underclothes from the sudden chill of the night air and his own intense arousal. 

He stood there, vulnerable by his lack of armor and the sudden exposure of his intentions. Yet he met Rosala’s hungry and anxious look with a devouring look of his own.

“Cullen,” she breathed, reaching out to him. 

He immediately stepped forward and bent his knees, smoothing his hands down her back and over her backside, landing them on either side of her inner thighs from behind. And he gripped her there, lifting her with ease, hoisting her small frame upward against the wall. 

And despite having never shared such an intimate proximity with any other—human, elf, or otherwise—Rosala instantly wrapped her legs around his waist, hooking her ankles and slipping her arms around his neck to tug forward. All of her natural instincts awoke within her—need and want mixing with a fear of inexperience. But she so desperately wanted this, wanted to give herself over to the one and only man who had ever brought about such happiness, hope, and pleasure. And she was ready. Having left for the Wastes with such frustration, daydreams of finally sharing her body in the most intimate way possible with the man she loved had occupied _all_ of her leisurely thoughts not bound to Inquisition duty. And finally, she was ready. Ready for this perfect moment laid bare for her. 

“Cullen,” she said on a shaky breath. 

“Yes, Ro,” Cullen answered. Just the use of his endearment caused her to shiver in his arms, and she pulled in a deep breath and exhaled. 

“I want you,” she whispered. 

Cullen moaned with both relief and arousal, feeling his already hardened cock twitch against the rough fabric of his trousers. He brought his lips down to hers, kissing Rosala as his hips began to roll upward and against her. The motion was warm and firm, and Rosala’s body responded in kind—heat and wet quickly dampening her smalls while the delicate peaks of her breasts stiffened from his touch. 

Cullen blindly fumbled with the ties of her blouse, his tongue darting over and under her own until her chest was exposed, to which his tongue sought out those sensitive peaks with a groan. She pressed forward, fingers digging into his hair and encouraging his lips over her tight and pink nipples. The sensation was foreign, and _delicious_ —and he sucked and licked and nibbled and pulled her into his mouth until it was full of soft and delicate flesh—full of _her_.

Rosala let out a quiet whimper—her eyes closed, head thrown back, and Cullen was quick to ensure she was indeed enjoying herself before gently moving his hands between them, positioning his hardened length so that he could grind along the crux of her legs. And the next sound that left his lover’s lips was a sound entirely different from the mouse-like whine just seconds before. 

It was a _moan_ , deep from a part of her she had never known to possess. The drag of his hard cock against her clit was exquisite, unlike anything she had ever felt before. And she suddenly wanted more of it, wanted his tender yet confident touch, his careful and explicit tongue, wanted—no, _needed_  his hot and sweaty body _naked_ against her own. 

But as soon as her hands snaked down his abdomen to finally touch his most sensitive parts, a knock erupted on the other side of Cullen’s door, followed quickly with, “Your Worship?”

Rosala gasped and locked eyes with Cullen, stilling her hands and drawing in her bottom lip with her teeth. 

“Your Worship? Commander?” Jim repeated again. “Sister Leliana has called for a War Room meeting. Your presence is requested at once.”

The flush of passion that had surfaced in Rosala’s cheeks quickly turned to a blush mixed of amusement and mild bashfulness. She squeezed her eyes shut with an almost laugh, trying to save herself from morbid embarrassment. “I’ll be right there, Jim.”

She glanced back up at Cullen who had slowly eased her down so her feet could touch the floor, a sigh escaping as soon as the footsteps on the other side had faded away. 

“Can we be quick?” Rosala asked, her heart now thrashing with a different sort of adrenaline entirely.

But Cullen shook his head, cradling her face and pulling her blouse closed once again.

“No, I don’t want it this way, Ro.”

But before she could interject, Cullen raised his hand, letting his finger light on her glistening lips.

“This…I mean I _want_ this, I do—but it needs to be right. If our first time was a quickie in my office before a War Council meeting, and we had to stand around Leliana, Josephine, and Cassandra, feigning our awkwardness on Maker knows what, I don’t think I could ever forgive myself. This is important to you, and it’s important to me. I need this to be right for you… _with_ you.”

The Inquisitor stared up at him and Cullen gazed into her violet eyes, desperately wishing he could read her mind.

“Cullen…” she whispered.

“Yes, darling?”

“Tonight,” she said, her voice playful, firm, intentional.

Cullen smiled and placed a soft and tender kiss to her lips.

“Tonight.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you read and enjoyed this, please leave kudos or a comment. <3
> 
> Fic title inspired by [All In by The Fjords](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ze46rPnqi_c)
> 
>  
> 
> [fereldenpeach.tumblr.com](http://fereldenpeach.tumblr.com)


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